


be silent, be still

by mercuryhatter



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Anal Sex, Belts, Dom Elias Bouchard, Dom/sub, Kneeling, M/M, Negotiated kink, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sub Peter Lukas, Verbal Bondage, they're evil but regrettably they love each other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-11
Updated: 2020-06-11
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:55:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24655696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mercuryhatter/pseuds/mercuryhatter
Summary: "You will be expected to hold that position for the duration of our activities. I will not be binding you tonight. If you move, we stop. If you speak, we stop. If you fail me in any way, aside from invoking a voluntary end to things, we stop. I will simply bring myself off on your back and leave you here for the rest of the night. Am I understood? You may nod if so.”it's porn, it doesn't have plot, it's what it says on the tin.
Relationships: Elias Bouchard/Peter Lukas
Comments: 18
Kudos: 67





	be silent, be still

**Author's Note:**

> this is D/s and obedience play, no undertones here. part of the scene is negotiated in the text and part of it is assumed that they've discussed it before. there's some aftercare at the end. also I'm very bad at figuring out what tags to add so if I missed some let me know.

“Ah,” Elias said, barely turning his attention from his papers as Peter entered the bedroom without knocking. “Peter. I thought we talked about how you are to present yourself in this room.”

The dismissiveness was expected, even wanted at times, but Peter was tired and Elias’s tone itched under his skin, adding to his mounting irritability. Still, to argue would increase it further still, so Peter stepped back outside the door with only a quiet sigh to voice his annoyance. Once outside, he undressed down to bare skin, silver hair prickling against it in response to the sudden chill on his arms and chest and thighs. He left the clothes in a neat pile outside the door and entered once again. 

This time, Elias did not acknowledge him at all, fulfilling his end of this little ritual of theirs. Peter glided soundlessly to his side, getting to his knees beside Elias’s desk chair, bowed his head, closed his eyes. Already he began to settle, familiarity hanging on his bones like ballast. 

Nothing but the clack and scribble of Elias at work, for a time. After a while, one of Elias’s elegant hands reached down and pulled the tie from Peter’s hair, moving with practiced ease. If Peter’s eyes had been open, if he’d been allowed to glance up, he was sure that Elias would not even have to look away from his work to do so. Elias’s hand settled in Peter’s hair, working to undo the two French braids that had led back to his bun, releasing his thick silver hair to fall around his bowed head. Eventually his fingers stilled, leaving just his warm hand, curved to fit the shape of Peter’s skull. After that, Peter could not have been pulled back to Earth by the hands of anyone else, not even if they tried in the thousands. Cool hardwood beneath his knees, warm palm curled into his hair; between them Peter was nothing, more purely even than in his own domain. 

He could not have said when Elias finished his work. Between one blurred moment and the next Elias’s hand became a fist in his hair, drawing his head back, and Peter’s eyes blinked sluggishly open to meet Elias’s, green and razor sharp. Elias smiled. 

“There you are. To the bed, now. I’ll join you when I’m ready.” 

The prospect of being left alone for an indefinite time sank in Peter’s chest, and the blasphemy of that reaction twisted in shame at his core. Elias’s smile quirked, shaded just faintly with cruelty. Still, Peter’s mouth was dry of any possible response and he simply rose, walked to the bed, laid down upon it. Face down, knees curled beneath him, arms crossed beneath his forehead. He knew, and Elias knew, that if Elias did intend to leave him here all night, he would let him. He had done so before, and Peter knew he would again. 

But that was not the sort of mood Elias was in tonight, because it was bare minutes before Peter felt the scrape of Elias’s beard against one shoulder, a sharp bite delivered to the place his spine bent into his neck. Relief shimmered through him and he felt Elias laugh against his skin. One of Elias’s hands forced itself between Peter’s chest and the duvet, finding his nipple to pinch it, rolling the slight swell of Peter’s chest under his palm. Peter’s breath caught in his throat but he held himself still-- a slip of his self-control would mean a much shorter night than either of them wanted. 

“So easy,” Elias chuckled, trailing a hand too-lightly down the entire line of Peter’s side, settling off a desperate tingling discomfort that Peter let roll through him without reaction. “You would do absolutely whatever I asked of you. If I was a very different man it would be pathetic. Sit up, look me in the eyes, and don’t move. I’m going to explain tonight’s rules to you.” 

Peter obeyed, looking at Elias fully for the first time since he had entered the bedroom. Elias was still dressed, but his suit jacket was abandoned at his desk, his sleeves rolled neatly to his mid-forearms. A scattering of rings flashed on his hands as he reached up to undo his tie, only making the motion once he was sure Peter was watching, holding Peter’s eyes calmly as he pulled the fabric from his throat, opened the top few buttons just to the first faint appearance of the hair on his chest. Peter expected the tie to find its new home around his wrists or in his mouth, but to his faint surprise Elias rolled the tie neatly and put it in his own pocket. He was perched on the side of the bed casually, for all the world as if he was sitting at the edge of an employee’s desk, leaning over to correct them on something. 

“First, I will tell you how I expect you to hold yourself,” he said. He leaned closer to Peter, apparently simply looking his fill, eyes raking over Peter’s freckled chest, the barely perceptible curve of his hips, embraced by their utilitarian harness, the redness still present on Peter’s knees from their contact with the floor. Elias pushed a stray bit of hair over Peter’s ear, snagging his finger on the hoop in its lobe and giving it a cheeky tug before returning his hands primly to his own thighs. “You will be expected to hold that position for the duration of our activities. I will not be binding you tonight. If you move, we stop. If you speak, we stop. If you fail me in any way, aside from invoking a voluntary end to things, we stop. I will simply bring myself off on your back and leave you here for the rest of the night. Am I understood? You may nod if so.” 

Peter nodded. It was all he could do. In other circumstances he might have teased Elias for his businesslike manner, might have gasped, might have told him “ _ fuck _ yes” just to rile him up by swearing, but as it was, he simply sat naked before him, feeling his own wetness between his thighs, holding Elias’s unrelenting gaze. Elias’s grin was like a flash of lightning before he leaned forward and crushed Peter’s mouth beneath his, biting at the lower lip hard enough to nip. When Peter didn’t respond, didn’t close his eyes, Elias’s smile widened and he patted the side of Peter’s face in satisfaction. 

“Good boy. Face down, on your knees, rear towards me and up. Legs spread, arms above your head, wrists crossed.” Peter had barely arranged himself as directed before Elias’s mouth and hands were on him, mouth sharp at his neck, hands bruising at his hips as he yanked them towards himself. He rubbed, still clothed, against Peter’s ass, and Peter felt him already hard against him. The shock of lust that sent through him made him realize, with a sudden pang of despair, that he hadn’t been told he could close his eyes. For the first time he began to doubt his ability to carry the scene through, unable to register the arousal rolling through him with oceanic force even in that small way. Flushed with the need to  _ not fail, _ he locked his arms tight in their outstretched position and tried to focus only on the tremble of his muscles. 

Elias was exploring the expanse of Peter’s back with his mouth, rubbing the skin into raw oversensitivity with his dark, close-cut beard. Peter imagined what Elias must look like from another angle, still dressed but beginning to lose his composure, his own lust evident in the rough grasp of his fingers, his hair beginning to fall loose from its pomade, his own skin beginning to redden as he flushed. He knew the look well from previous encounters; it hardly even registered to Peter as a loss that he couldn’t see it now. 

Peter almost lost the game  _ very  _ early on when Elias’s hands found their way to his chest again, pinching and rolling mercilessly, but he held himself rigid and still, his stare boring holes into the duvet. Elias made a small hum of approval, the sound warm in Peter’s chest, whispering to his awkwardly bent neck and his straining concentration that all of it was so  _ very _ worth it, just for that sound alone. 

Elias pulled away once Peter’s chest was red and smarting on both sides, and behind him Peter heard the sound of a leather belt sliding smoothly from its loops, the rustle of fabric as it was shed and folded. He did not know whether or not to expect that belt against his skin, and at first it didn’t come, only Elias’s teeth against his spine once again. It was only just as he’d nearly forgotten to brace himself for it that Elias pulled away once again and the belt cracked hard across Peter’s thighs. 

The effort to keep himself from jumping at the sudden pain set Peter’s whole body to shaking and he took a moment to briefly consider himself lucky that Elias didn’t consider that a violation of the rules before the belt cracked down again, harder than before. The pain sang through him, his skin astoundingly sensitive when it was once again exposed to the air, and he could vividly imagine what Elias saw before him: the blood rising to just below the skin, the quiver and tense of Peter’s muscles. The first two strikes would bruise; the next few were lighter, occasionally migrating to the soles of his feet or his drawn-apart shoulder blades. Peter’s heartbeat roared in his ears louder with each strike, and his center, held in the air away from even the ghost of friction from the duvet, throbbed and dripped with need. He felt some of the slick begin to roll down the inside of his thighs. Elias noticed too, because his breath hissed on a sudden sharp inhale and the belt clattered to the floor. 

“ _ Peter _ ,” he breathed, and then his face was between Peter’s legs, licking the slick from them without ever coming close to where his tongue was most needed. He must look completely undone now, Peter thought with another throb of arousal, lips shining and wet, panting from the exertion of striking him-- hopelessly disheveled now. When the game was over Peter would be able to see him like that, decimated and resplendent, and that knowledge gave him the conviction to keep himself still, still, still. 

By the time Elias’s hands came to spread Peter open, long fingers newly wet with lube pushing him open with hardly a moment for Peter to realize what was happening, both of them shone with sweat. Peter even felt Elias’s own hands trembling very slightly as they worked and struggled to keep his breath even-- an exhale too loud, too obviously punched out of him, would surely lose the game for him, and he had not come this far to lose now. But it was a near thing once again when Elias’s cock pressed inside him, the pain at first too sharp, too much. Peter held steady and in response, Elias rocked slowly back and forth into him until Peter was more open, ready to take all of him. 

Elias shouted when he settled fully into Peter, gleefully loud solely because he knew Peter could not be. Hidden inside his mouth, Peter caught his tongue between his teeth and bit. His world narrowed to only one objective--  _ do not move, do not make a sound-- _ and only one sensation--  _ Elias inside him, his pace unrelenting, his hips smacking into Peter’s ass with each thrust, his elated shouts _ . 

Elias came quickly, apparently uninterested in delaying his own pleasure any further than necessary. Peter felt it hot inside of him and ground his teeth down harder, his own neglected clit nearly painful in its hardness, slick continuing to drip from him untended. Elias could simply leave him here now, make him hold this position for the rest of the night. He could come back in the morning and use Peter again, never letting him get off, or he could decide not to come back at all. The possibilities intensified Peter’s trembling, his own body now fighting him in a game that Peter was suddenly unsure contained a winning outcome for him at all. 

Elias had stepped away to wipe himself clean, but blessedly was soon on Peter again, folded over him entirely, taking Peter’s earlobe into his mouth, and most welcome of all, his hand hot and all-encompassing over Peter’s clit, pushing the harness out of the way. 

“The rules haven’t changed,” Elias panted in Peter’s ear, sounding hoarse and wrecked between bites. “ _ Except _ that you can come.” 

Peter’s entire throat spasmed and clamped down on the whimper that almost escaped him then, and he thanked whatever might be out in the universe that might be listening that Elias wasted no time in rubbing his hand against Peter’s clit, catching it between two fingers and bringing it expertly to the edge. It was only moments before Peter’s orgasm slammed into him, pulsing through his clit in insistent, nearly painful waves. Elias exhaled long and pleased across Peter’s neck, working his hand slower and slower as the orgasm crested and fell. For a long moment he simply laid draped over Peter, one hand warm and still over Peter’s center, his cheek resting damply against Peter’s neck. Finally, he whispered, “we’re done,” and Peter groaned and collapsed all at once. 

Elias stayed heavy over him as Peter curled up, relief washing through his muscles even as a cramp teased at his thigh. He let his breath come as rough and shaky as it wanted now, closing his eyes and pressing into Elias’s chest. Elias rubbed idly at one of Peter’s drawn-in forearms, whispering nonsense where his mouth still lay near Peter’s ear. 

“You are  _ so _ good for this,” he murmured, hand curling possessively around Peter’s wrist. They shifted as one, Elias gathering Peter to him, folding him up as if his larger and taller frame could fit easily into the space created by Elias’s narrow chest. “You couldn’t be more obedient if I had created you that way. Perfect for me.” 

Now that Peter was allowed to speak, he found there was nothing much he wanted to say, surrounded by Elias and heavy with satisfied fatigue. The length of the day and the chill of the Lonely and the scraping flay of the Eye all felt very far away, just momentarily, and he fell asleep to the sound of Elias’s voice, ever documenting the moment even with the hoarse remnants of his typically velvet voice. 

**Author's Note:**

> I did say there was some aftercare at the end but I also feel the need to mention that they're both gonna be hella dehydrated when they wake up in a few hours regretting their choices lol
> 
> update: I realized that I was picturing something very specific when I wrote elias having a beard and this morning I finally placed what it was and I regret to inform that it was this http://geekandsundry.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/08/Roger-Delgado-Master-1024x768.jpg


End file.
